Kohlrabi is an acquired taste. It’s bland, with a mild hint of mustard-like fire, and is surrounded by a tough, thick peel.
“It tastes like the part of broccoli you throw away,” Sarah Aswell wrote for McSweeney’s in a piece called “Your First CSA: A Month-By-Month Guide to Enjoying Your Farm Share.”
Comparing kohlrabi to broccoli stalk is taxonomically sound, as kohlrabi is the swollen stem of a plant in the same family as broccoli. Its name means “cabbage turnip” in German, and both cabbage and turnip are in the brassica family as well. Kohlrabi was bred over many generations to have rounder and larger stems, which enabled perhaps the one edge that kohlrabi has: It’s ready early in the season; no need to wait for flowers, fruit, or seeds to develop.
“We grow it because it does well here and it adds diversity to the weekly shares in late spring,” says Missoula, Montana CSA farmer Josh Slotnick. He admits that few of his customers fall in love with the scaly green orb at first sight, but compares it to kiwi, which nobody cared about when it was called Chinese gooseberry.
“Kohlrabi needs a rebranding, better marketing, and a better name,” he said.
His colleague Luci Brieger, a farmer in nearby Victor, has a recipe for kohlrabi schnitzel that sells itself. Breaded and fried until golden, it’s a dish that people clamor for in the old country. She learned it from a German customer.
“It’s like chicken-fried steak,” said Brieger, who grows the giant Cossack storage variety, which can reach 10 pounds. She and her family feast on these fried slabs of breaded goodness all winter.
Meanwhile, back in Missoula, my local Thai restaurant Sa Wad Dee ran a special of kohlrabi som tam, aka green papaya salad, the classic Laotian dish. Mixed with garlic, chile pepper, lemon, and spices and drenched in fish sauce, the salad made with kohlrabi was as good as the green papaya version, of which I could eat any amount.
Kohl Som Tam
Som tam means something like “pounded sourness” in Laotian, a reference to both the flavor and the mortar and pestle that are traditionally used to make the sauce. This dish is juicy, bright, and refreshing, like som tam should be.- 1 medium garlic clove, minced
- 1/2 teaspoon sugar
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1 or more thin-skinned chile pepper, like a Thai or serrano, de-seeded and thin-sliced (optional)
- 2 tablespoons peanuts, dry-roasted in a pan
- 2 tablespoons lime juice
- 1 tablespoon fish sauce, or more to taste
- 1 softball-sized kohlrabi, peeled and grated or shredded (about 5 cups)
- 1 medium carrot, grated
- A large handful of cherry tomatoes, sliced into quarters
- A fistful of string beans, chopped into inch-lengths
Transfer the paste to a bowl and add the lime juice and fish sauce, and stir together. Add the shredded kohlrabi and carrot. Lightly crush the tomato and string beans in the mortar and pestle, or with the side of a knife, and add them to the bowl. Toss.
Kohlrabi Schnitzel
It’s breaded and fried, which feels like cheating. But if you are getting people to chow down on kohlrabi, that’s called “winning.”- 2 softball-sized kohlrabi
- 1/2 cup flour
- 2 eggs
- 1/2 cup breadcrumbs
- Salt and pepper
- Vegetable oil
Cook the kohlrabi slices in the boiling water until slightly tender, about 7 to 8 minutes. Remove the slices, drain, and pat dry.
Mix the flour and a pinch of salt in a shallow bowl, beat the eggs in a second bowl, and measure the breadcrumbs into a third. Bread the kohlrabi cutlets by coating each slice first in seasoned flour, then dipping in beaten egg, then dredging in breadcrumbs. The kohlrabi should be completely coated on all sides.
Heat the oil in a pan on medium and brown the cutlets until golden on both sides. Remove the kohlrabi schnitzels from the pan and drain to remove any excess oil.
